Demons Don't Cry
by SidWeaselVicious
Summary: After the events of 'The Gift', Spike begins a downward spiral of failure, heartache, and depression. Willow wants to resurrect Buffy, but will things ever be the same again? In-depth character study with everyone, eventually becoming an AU Season 6.
1. A Fraying Thread

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all respective characters are property of Joss Whedon. I'm just borrowing them to write about them.  
>AN: This is actually my first fanfic ever! I would really appreciate feedback and reviews on this. I know post-'The Gift' fics are overdone, but I have my own distinct direction I want to take it and haven't seen any fics that tell the exact story I want to. Lot of angst in this first chapter, establishing the main ground for where Spike starts out here.

**I. A Fraying Thread**

Spike blinked open his eyes and sat up wearily, disoriented. Slowly, he began to process his surroundings with a now-familiar sinking feeling of disappointment and despair. He was on the cold, hard floor of his crypt, an empty glass bottle of Jack Daniels lying on its side next to him where it had toppled over. His body ached, weak and very strained from his slowly-healing injuries, partially-knitted broken bones sapping his waning strength as they still labouriously struggled to finish mending themselves. Exhaustion must have claimed him earlier and caused him to fall asleep on the floor. Feeling tears pricking at his eyes, as always when he awoke and reality sunk in again, he buried his face in his hands with a sob choking from his throat.

_Buffy was dead. _Just moments ago, she'd been alive in his dream. He'd saved her again.

Ever since that fateful night, he relived it in his dreams every time he slept. He would do something different than he had, do it right this time, to prevent the love of his unlife from having to leap to her death to save the world. Various details always changed, but the important things stayed the same—he kept Dawn safe, Buffy didn't have to jump, and the apocalypse was still averted.

But here, right now, he wasn't dreaming anymore. This was the reality where he'd failed to protect Dawn, the little girl had been hurt and bled because of his shortcomings, and Buffy had to sacrifice her life to save the world and her sister. The Slayer had trusted him to keep Dawn safe, and he'd failed. The woman he'd fallen so deeply in love with had finally begun to see him as a man and not a monster, and maybe she could have loved him someday...but now it was too late. She was dead.

_Dead. _Gone. Forever.

The vampire shuddered with the sobbing that wracked his body as he broke down again, once more his heart breaking like a wound that kept being reopened. It was getting harder and harder to deal with waking from these dreams, being taunted by a world with Buffy in it only to have to face her death anew when it was over. His battered body had nothing on the pain in his heart, and it was more tempting each time this happened to free himself from it by taking a walk in the sun.

Drawing in a deep unnecessary breath to try to pull himself together, he struggled to his feet and staggered unsteadily towards his fridge, leaning against the appliance for support as he retrieved another bottle of strong liquor from inside. He was glad he'd stocked up on it, having blown all of his money on alcohol the night after the world nearly ended. He'd crammed as much of it into his fridge as possible, then immediately drank himself into a stupor with the extra booze that hadn't fit. It was the only way he could numb his emotional pain and refrain from trying to dust himself.

He sank to the floor again, leaning back against a wall as he popped off the cap and threw his head back, gulping down several deep pulls of his drink. It burned his throat and warmed him from the inside, his otherwise-empty stomach causing the much-welcome buzz to very rapidly go to his head. The liquid settling into the bottom of the hollow space elicited a long, painful growl of hunger from the abused organ, protesting his diet of nothing but hard liquor for...how long had it been now? Nearly two weeks, he realised with a slight shock. He'd saved her in his dreams thirteen times. This knowledge suddenly made him acutely aware of the painful gnawing in his gut that he hadn't even noticed much before in his misery, but he could deal with physical pain—even _enjoy_ it sometimes—and right now it was at least providing a distraction from his heartache and depression.

As he paused to massage his free hand into his rumbling stomach, trying to soothe it a bit to be sure he could keep his precious intoxicating beverage down, he glanced down at that hand and the bare torso it touched. His body used to be lean and fit with carefully well-maintained musculature, but most of that muscle had wasted away now from lack of feeding, cannibalised to sustain him and attempt to repair his many injuries. Where he once had chiseled abs, his stomach was now entirely devoid of that muscle tone and sunken in from self-imposed starvation. Though he wasn't altogether skeletal, his ribcage was starting to become rather unhealthily prominent and his hip bones sharper, his jeans looser and riding lower, barely fitting him anymore. He absently thought that he ought to be a lot more upset about the atrophy of his hard-earned physique, but he was so deeply wallowing in misery as it was that he just couldn't bring himself to care beyond wondering if vampires could actually starve to death.

At this, the thought of blood briefly passed through his mind, only for his hunger to immediately be replaced by an intense nausea that once more thoroughly erased any desire to ever eat again. Images of Dawn trussed up and bleeding on the tower flashed through his mind, the helpless young girl he loved like a little sister crying in pain and fear as shallow cuts leaked rivulets of crimson down her body, pattering the droplets onto the ground that would open the portals of Hell. The memory was still so vivid it might as well have been happening right then, and a violent shudder of sadness, failure, and revulsion had him hugging his arms tightly around himself and desperately wishing to banish the memory.

The surviving Scoobies had tried to feed him the morning it happened, he remembered. He'd been forcibly relocated to his crypt for his safety, having tried to embrace the rising sun upon seeing Buffy's lifeless body, then they'd bound his broken bones so they would heal correctly and coaxed him to try drinking a mug of blood. He'd been too devastated by the loss of the Slayer to have any appetite in the first place, but the smell of it had repulsed him by invoking those same images of Dawn he'd seen just now, and he'd gagged on it and refused it. _It's always about the blood_, he recalled ruefully, swallowing hard and fighting to banish the memories from his mind.

His shaking hands sought out a pack of smokes from his jean pockets, extracting one and balancing it between his lips as he clumsily fumbled with his lighter for a moment to get it lit. Finally succeeding, he leant back against the wall again and sucked in a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke and trying to clear his mind. After a few deep breaths, he was rewarded by the faint tingling of the nicotine starting to help him relax, and he closed his eyes with a soft sigh and let his tired body go slack as he smoked, focusing on indulging the comforting habit to retreat to a calm place away from his troubled thoughts. He lifted his drink back to his lips when his stomach finally settled again, and he resumed knocking back the beverage, setting about getting sloshed and gratefully welcoming the drunken oblivion awaiting him.

Such was the way he struggled through each day. He felt like he would never be done fighting the temptation to give up, grasping at a fraying thread of reasons to keep going amidst his pain.


	2. In Loving Memory

A/N: Wow, I have a few readers already! Thank you so much for taking an interest in my story! Sorry this chapter took so long to finish, trying to get the hang of writing these characters. I've already plotted out the full story for this, but I'm not sure how long I want to spend on each part yet, so apologies if it starts out a bit slow.

**II. In Loving Memory**

A knock on the door of his crypt stirred Spike from the light sleep he'd dozed off into. His senses told him that it was just before sunset now, though he couldn't suss out why anyone would be coming to visit him, much less be polite enough to knock rather than barging right in. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed his eyes and glanced towards the entrance curiously.

The knocking sounded again, then he heard Giles' mild, cultured voice asking from behind it, "Spike, are you there?"

An odd feeling of self-consciousness fell over him, and he paused a moment before calling out in reply, "Yeah, I'm comin'. Jus' a tick." Quickly pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair to be slightly more presentable, he got up and ambled over to see what the Watcher wanted.

Immediately upon opening the door, he was nearly knocked over by a familiar small form barreling into him. Dawn latched onto him in an almost painfully tight hug, burying her face against his chest. "Spike!" she squealed. "I missed you! Nobody would let me come over. They said it was too dangerous. I was hoping you'd come visit us and you never did! I was worried about you, you jerk!" She punctuated her final statement with a light punch to his arm, looking up at him with her lower lip jutting out in a pout that threatened to make him smile in amusement.

"Sorry, Niblet," he told the teen sincerely, protectively hugging her close to him in apology. He surprised himself with this action, realising just how badly he'd been missing human contact in his depressed isolation. "I've jus'...er...been a bit out of sorts lately..." he confessed awkwardly, only to be surprised once more when Dawn's eyes showed a look of sad understanding at his words. _Of course she understands_, it then occurred to him. _She lost her sister. She's grieving too._

Giles cleared his throat from where he still stood just inside the entrance, drawing Spike's attention back to him. "Dawn came with me because she wanted to visit you," he began when he was sure the vampire was listening. There was an awkward pause, and Spike realised from his fellow Englishman's expression that the reason for his visit was otherwise not a happy one before he even finished, his usually-stoic tone faltering slightly at the message that followed. "I'm here to remind you that Buffy's funeral is this evening. I thought you might like to attend."

An icy spear of pain stabbed through Spike's heart at those words, prompting him to close his eyes to hide the emotion in them. "Thanks, Rupes," he replied quietly, his voice strained. "I'd like that."

Dawn sniffled and clung tightly to him again, once more hiding her face against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her securely in response, he absently combed his fingers through her hair in a comforting gesture. He knew that they were both comforting one another with the contact, and that they both needed it. Dawn needed _him_.

At this realisation, he felt a pang of guilt at how he'd isolated himself from the others. The poor girl had first lost her mother, then she'd lost her sister not long after. His withdrawal from the group meant she had, in a way, lost her surrogate big brother as well, and he might never have gone to see her again if she hadn't come to visit him today. He couldn't abandon her, not now. She'd been through too much grief already, far more than anyone her age ever should, pain that he couldn't bear the thought of adding to. He'd promised to protect her until the end of the world, and the end hadn't come after all, even though he'd failed to keep his promise the night it had mattered the most. He could still try to honour that promise now, and he would.

Making up his mind suddenly, he finally spoke up again, asking softly, "Bit, y'think the witches'd mind if I moved in wi' you lot?" He smiled sadly. "Been a bit lonely, an—"

He was cut off by an ear-piercing squeal of joy from Dawn, wincing slightly at the volume. "Please move in with us! I'm sure they won't mind! But just in case they do, I could annoy them into submission by pestering them about it endlessly until they say yes." She beamed impishly up at him, warming his heart.

Giles' mouth twitched with the slightest hint of a smile at the exchange before he sobered again, growing solemn and glancing towards the darkening sky. "We should be going about now. Do behave yourself around Angel, Spike. This would hardly be the time to start a fight." Spike scowled at the mention of his Grandsire, but reluctantly nodded in acknowledgment, shrugging on his duster on the way out and following after the Watcher as he led the way.

* * *

><p>'<em>She saved the world a lot.'<em> The inscription on the headstone was certainly appropriate, but somehow Spike couldn't help but feel it was still an understatement. Buffy had done nothing _but_ save the world since her calling. She'd more than earned her rest.

Still, he couldn't help but wish she were still here, still fighting. Losing her had left a gaping hole in his heart, one that seemed only to grow every day, eating away at him until perhaps one day there would be nothing left of him at all. Seeing Buffy's headstone made her death even more painfully real. He hung his head and closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree behind him, some distance from the rest of the group.

Not that anyone noticed that he was hanging back from the rest of them. They were all caught up in their own grief, most of them crying...well, except Angel. He was _brooding _instead. Spike rolled his eyes at the sight of the elder vampire acting so stiff and stoic throughout the service, as though it were completely unacceptable for him to show any emotion other than his default one. Sometimes he doubted that his Grandsire even _had_ other emotions.

He withdrew into himself as the night went on, losing focus of what was going on and instead concentrating on the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him, knocking back swigs of it now and then. Though he was glad he'd been invited, the pain was starting to overwhelm him again. He couldn't break down in front of everyone. Someone might end up talking to him, and he wanted badly to just be left alone.

Unfortunately, that wasn't happening. "Still disappear into the bottle whenever anything bad happens, eh, William?" he heard Angel asking derisively, the tall vampire apparently having walked over to him when he hadn't been paying attention.

"Sod off Angelus," Spike snarled in response, refusing to look at him. Great, this was the last thing he needed right now.

"Don't know why they even invited you," Angel continued, shaking his head. "You really should work on those manners, boy."

Smashing the now-empty bottle onto the ground with more force than necessary, Spike straightened up and glared daggers at Angel. "Don't think ya heard me. I said. Sod. Off." His eyes flashed yellow for a moment as he tried to contain his rage at the larger vampire. He was supposed to be playing nice, but it seemed Angel either hadn't gotten the same message, or he just didn't care. Was he just imagining the accusatory glare in his Grandsire's eyes, or was Angel actually blaming him for Buffy's death? Growling low in his chest, he abruptly looked away, slamming his fist into the tree.

"Back off, Angel," came Dawn's voice from behind the dark-haired vampire, strained from crying but clearly angry. Much to Spike's surprise, Angel turned to look at her, then simply huffed in irritation and walked away.

Spike looked to the teen in confusion for a moment, unsure what to say. He wasn't sure whether or not he was grateful that she'd stood up for him, or embarrassed that he'd needed a teenage girl to come to his defense. "Sorry 'bout that," he told her awkwardly after a moment.

She shook her head. "We were just about to leave, and I saw him bugging you. I really don't like him." She glared over her shoulder at the retreating vampire.

Spike smirked slightly, then pulled Dawn to him in a hug. She looked like she needed one. "That makes two of us then," he remarked.

Dawn looked up suddenly, remembering something. "Oh! I forgot to ask..." She meandered back towards the rest of the group and called out to Willow and Tara, doing her best puppy-dog-eyes as she asked them about Spike moving in with them, and it made him smile in spite of everything to watch her put on that act. Willow was frowning slightly, not seeming to think it was an ideal arrangement, but eventually she agreed and the three walked back over to Spike.

"I guess you're moving in with us," the redhead told him. She seemed tired and a bit puzzled. "We'll work something out. We were just heading home, want to come with us?"

Spike nodded silently, falling into step behind the others as they made the relatively short distance back to the Summers residence. The walk was a solemn and quiet one, clearly everyone's thoughts still on the funeral, grieving the passing of their cherished friend—or sister, in Dawn's case. When they arrived at the door, Spike hesitated and was the last to enter, afraid he might have been uninvited. There was no barrier, though, much to his relief. That made him feel a slight bit better, at least.

As she watched him walk inside, Tara wondered if she was the only one who could tell that something wasn't quite right with Spike. Though she could clearly see the pain in his aura, that wasn't what tipped her off. She wasn't the most knowledgeable about vampires, but she knew that they healed from injuries very quickly, and she could hazard a guess that Spike's injuries from falling off the tower should have disappeared by now. Something in how he held himself, moving gingerly and unsteadily, suggested that this wasn't the case. Moreover, he just didn't look healthy at all, an observation she never thought she would be making about someone who was technically a corpse. Of course, he'd never _looked_ like one to her before, but he did now, more pale and gaunt than she remembered with dark circles under his eyes, his lips nearly blue. It chilled her.

She quickly averted her gaze when he looked at her, thankful that her shyness made the action seem natural for her rather than exposing her worry. "Sorry we don't have any blood," she spoke up softly, uncertainly. "I didn't know you'd be moving in. I-I'll go get some in the morning."

As she briefly made eye contact to convey her sincerity, the look on his face confused her. He was hiding something that was clearly troubling him, but she couldn't tell what. "It's fine," he told her, this time being the one to look away awkwardly. "Not hungry anyhow. Think I'd jus' like to get some sleep, yeah?"

Dawn turned wide, hopeful eyes to him. "Will you sleep in my room with me tonight? Please?" She held onto his arm as if afraid that her question would make him try to leave, her eyes tearing up as she confessed, "I've been having nightmares..."

Spike was quiet for a long moment. He still felt so broken and lost, doubting whether he could actually handle this. A part of him wanted to retreat to his crypt and never have to face anyone again. He didn't want to have to try to be strong right now, not when he felt so emotionally wounded from everything that had happened, as though he could fall apart any moment. And yet...as he looked into Dawn's sad and pleading eyes, shimmering with unshed tears and exposing her own pain he understood all too well, his heart broke at the thought of abandoning her. Finally, he nodded and hugged her gently. "Sure, Bit."


	3. Restless Heart

A/N: Thanks yet again to anyone taking an interest in this story!

**III. Restless Heart**

Spike allowed himself to be dragged along on patrol with the others night after night. He paradoxically felt both exhausted and restless these days, but the latter always won out when presented with an opportunity for violence. Whenever he fought, he readily relinquished control to his demon side, tearing viciously into any nasty that dared cross his path. Though many of the demons he fought were stronger than him now, still none of them stood a chance against the sheer intensity of his wrath, his actions raw and animalistic, completely focused on his task as he poured the full of his anger at the world into every blow. Frequently, he abandoned his weapon, instead tearing into his enemies with his bare hands and gruesomely rending them with his fangs. It was pure catharsis, and he couldn't get enough of it.

He didn't simply patrol, he _hunted_. The same need for blood that weakened him also heightened every one of his senses to an astounding degree and made him hyper-aware of his surroundings, the vampiric instincts that had helped him survive in the days before his chip now aiding him in making prey of demons rather than humans. Letting himself become so consumed by the intensity of that basic need felt very right somehow. The ache of starvation penetrated down to his bones, but he embraced the feeling. He craved the pain. It reminded him he was alive when he otherwise felt so dead to the world.

Sometimes the hunger would get the better of him, and he would find himself violently tearing out the throat of another vampire to get a taste of the rancid second-hand blood in their veins. He didn't care that it tasted terrible, that the most it ever did for him was simply slow the rate at which he wasted away, and he always stopped himself regardless before he could feel at all sated from it. He didn't want to feel relief. He wanted to punish himself for causing Buffy's death. He deserved this.

The presence of the hated Buffybot during patrol ensured he couldn't forget the reason for his anguish, either. Willow had repaired and reprogrammed the thing to create the illusion that the Slayer was still alive, which was admittedly important to prevent the demon population from getting out of hand, but it still bore such an uncanny resemblance to her—he'd had it built that way, after all. He really wished he'd never asked for the horrid thing to be made in the first place. Willow did seem to feel guilty at having to put it to use, at least, but it was still a constant and painful reminder...both of his failure to save the woman it was modeled after, and of how he'd offended that same woman before then with its creation.

The others had tried to coordinate as a group with him at first, but they started letting him have a bit more space rather quickly at his antisocial behaviour and disturbingly violent combat tactics. It was just as well. He didn't think he could handle talking to any of them, anyway, quite content to lose himself in the fight. A faint ghost of a smile crossed his face briefly as he ripped an attacking fledgling's head right from its shoulders and watched it turn to dust. Definitely cathartic.

* * *

><p>As Spike dragged himself home from another night's patrol, and the hum of energy from the fight faded away to weariness once more, he went upstairs and took his usual place on Dawn's bed beside her, his arms wrapped protectively around her to help ward away her nightmares. Sometimes, he felt as though being there to take care of her was the only thing still tying him to this world and keeping him from giving up.<p>

As he watched her peaceful face and waited for sleep to claim him as well, he remembered back to the first night he'd spent in that room, when the sound of her crying had stirred him awake, and he'd heard her say as he tried to calm her down, "It should have been me."

"What's that, pet?" he'd asked her.

"I was supposed to die. It was supposed to be me, on that tower."

Hearing her say that had alarmed him, and his heart had broken for her. "Don't ever say that. Don't even _think_ it." He'd turned her face towards his so that she would look at him and see the sincerity behind his words as he wiped the tears from her eyes. "Remember what you said she told you?"

Dawn had nodded weakly in response, closing her eyes as she repeated her sister's final message. " 'Live for me'."

"Exactly. Not your fault, you never asked to be some mystical Key, yeah? Was her decision, 'cos she loved you so much, her gift to you. She wouldn't want you to wish it away." Hearing that seemed to have helped her settle down a bit, and he'd held her close until she'd finally drifted off again into a more peaceful sleep. He hadn't told her what had been haunting him, though he'd thought it in the following silence. _It's not your fault, because it's mine. I was supposed to keep you safe._

Ever since then, he'd slept in her room with her. Keeping her safe.

* * *

><p>Dawn awoke to the smell of Tara cooking breakfast downstairs, and she stretched slowly with a yawn before carefully untangling herself from Spike's arms to avoid waking him up. He'd seemed exceptionally tired last night, for some reason. Might as well let him sleep in.<p>

" 'Morning, Dawnie," Willow greeted her brightly as the teen entered the kitchen, currently busying herself with setting plates around the table, whilst Tara was finishing up preparing some pancakes. "Food's almost ready."

"I'm making funny shapes," Tara chimed in with a gentle smile, briefly glancing at Dawn an affectionate, motherly sort of way in greeting, then resuming studying the pancake she was cooking.

"Awesome," Dawn beamed as she flopped down into a seat at the table. Tara carefully transferred a now-finished pancake shaped like a cat's face to Dawn's plate a moment later, prompting the girl to giggle at the cute creation for a moment before slathering it in syrup and digging in enthusiastically.

Tara returned her attention to the pan as she poured more homemade mix into it. "Spike still asleep?" she asked.

Dawn nodded. "Didn't want to wake him up. He'll be down later, probably."

"Vampires must not be morning people," Willow joked, then smiled gratefully to Tara as the shy witch served her the next pancake. She made her own last, seating herself at the table with the other two when it was ready.

"So, we doing anything exciting today?" Dawn asked conversationally as they ate.

"Hanging out at The Magic Box, same old," Willow replied mildly. "Oh, and we need to go shopping at some point. Running low on groceries. Want to come with me and help pick out the right sugar-filled cereal?" she teased the teen good-naturedly.

Dawn grinned widely. "Sure!"

Tara glanced up from her plate. "I think I'll stay home while you two go out," she decided. "Someone has to look after the house."

Willow nodded her agreement, and they fell into their typical lazy chatter over breakfast, none of them thinking too much of Spike's absence, as it wasn't a rare occurrence for him to wake up a bit later than the rest of them.

Tara was worried about something else concerning the blonde vampire, however. She'd noticed the change in his attitude lately, especially the way he acted during patrol, and it was glaringly obvious to her by now that he was losing weight. While those things were potentially cause for concern alone, what cemented her worry was the fact that the blood she'd bought the morning after he'd moved in—well over a week ago by now—was still untouched. He probably wasn't aware that she saw the contents of the refrigerator quite frequently, since she did all of the cooking in the house. She'd counted the bags the past few days to confirm her increasing suspicion that he wasn't drinking it, and the number still hadn't changed.

She remained fairly quiet as they finished eating, lost in her thoughts. Something was very wrong with Spike, and she wanted to find out what it was. Maybe she could help him somehow.

When the others stood up from the table to get properly dressed for their shopping trip, Tara picked up their plates and took them to the sink to rinse them and put them into the dishwasher, still deep in contemplation. Once she'd finished, she curled up on the couch with a book, waving to Willow and Dawn as they left for the market a short while later. Spike still hadn't come downstairs, and she didn't want to wake him up, so she opted to wait until later to try to talk to him. She sighed, glancing towards the staircase momentarily before shaking her head and trying to return her focus to her book.

_Oh, Spike, what are you doing to yourself? _she wondered sadly.


	4. Sympathy For The Devil

A/N: I ended up enjoying writing this part a lot, since Tara is probably my favourite character in BtVS. This chapter is dedicated to anyone else who's fond of that shy, full-figured Wiccan and her tenderness. :)

**IV. Sympathy For The Devil**

The sun had just begun to set when Spike finally stirred, lightly roused from a very deep and much-needed sleep. He sighed wearily when it sunk in that he'd been dreaming once again, and he continued to lie motionless on the bed with his eyes closed for a long moment before slowly opening them and staring blankly at nothing in particular.

Twenty-five days. He'd saved her twenty-five times now.

Of course, he never actually saved her in the way that really counted. His dreams never did a thing to actually change the reality of that night. The Slayer was still dead. She was always dead when the dreams ended.

As he gradually began to fully wake up, various aches and pains made themselves known throughout his body, some worse than others. The injuries he would suffer during patrol always took so long to fade without blood to help him mend, a further drain on the energy he was having progressively less to spare of. He knew he'd really overdone it last night and that he was now paying for it. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, nearly pinning him down, and he briefly considered not bothering to get up at all. Then again, he really didn't want anyone thinking that something was wrong with him. Not that there _was_ anything wrong with him, of course...right?

He winced as he gingerly stretched to get up, testing where he hurt and how badly. He was sore, but the damage wasn't bad, nothing he couldn't deal with and still kick some demon arse. Getting himself upright was a bit difficult, though, requiring a few attempts to compensate for the weak and woozy feeling in his head, and he had to pause to wait for the room to stop spinning once he managed to sit up. Still no big deal, he decided. He was sure he'd been worse.

Finally climbing off the bed and more or less finding his balance, he yawned and rubbed his eyes groggily and made his way downstairs.

Tara startled slightly and glanced up at the sound of Spike half-stumbling over the last couple of stairs, the shy witch still on the couch with her book. She'd been waiting for him, hoping for a chance to talk to him in private to possibly discern some clue as to what was wrong. "H-hi, Spike," she ventured uncertainly.

" 'Lo, Glenda," came the mumbled, sleep-slurred reply from the platinum-haired vampire, blinking blearily and glancing around as he entered the room. "Where're Red 'n the Niblet?"

Tara looked back down at her book, not actually reading it anymore, but feeling too uneasy to make eye contact. "They...they w-went to The Magic Box...I...I think," she answered haltingly, frustrated at her nervous stutter surfacing and hoping that he wouldn't notice how anxious she was. Trying to force herself to be calm, she chanced a brief glance in the direction of the vampire, noticing with worry the way that he seemed to be swaying in place slightly, as though dizzy. He also wasn't wearing his duster at the moment, making it all the more obvious just how painfully thin he'd become, the same clothes that had usually nearly appeared painted on now draping loosely off of him. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look so poorly. Steeling her nerves, she hesitantly tried, "H-how are you feeling?"

Spike tensed and gave her an odd look, clearly suspicious at the question and searching her expression for any sort of secret motive. " 'M fine, why?"

Hesitating, Tara racked her brain for a response that wouldn't make him too skittish. "You...j-just look hurt, is all," she finally decided on. He _was_ sporting some slight bruises in a few places that she could see, so she figured it wouldn't give away her greater worry to say so.

He paused to glance at the injuries himself, nodding. "Er, yeah. Got a bit of a beatin' last night. No big, though. Vampire 'n all, can heal up right quick."

The soft-spoken witch knew exactly what she wanted to say to him next, but she had the feeling that this was going to be tricky. There was a definite increasing unease showing in his aura, worrying her that he'd shut himself off to her if she pressed him about this. Gathering her courage as best she could, she made her best effort to hide the concern in her voice as she told him, "Th-there's blood in the fridge. If...if you n-need it. You know...to heal up for patrol tonight." She was looking away again by the time she'd finished, studying the floor.

In the awkward silence that followed, it became increasingly clear to Tara that Spike had completely forgotten she'd bought that blood and was now trying to formulate an excuse for why he hadn't touched it. "Er, oh...I...I di'n't know you bought any, love," he finally responded, his words sounding a bit unnatural and stilted. "Don't gotta waste your money on me. I can take care a' m'self. Been, er, gettin' my own. 'M fine." She glanced at him again just long enough to notice that he was nervously looking everywhere but at her, likely aware of just how unconvincing he sounded. If he _was_ taking care of himself, he'd clearly have to be doing an absolutely _terrible_ job of it.

"Well, you d-don't have to let it go to waste," she tried, doubtful he would go for it, but maybe she could at least figure out why if he refused. "I think it's still good."

Spike got a trapped sort of look on his face at that, one that gave Tara the distinct feeling that he badly wanted to avoid having to drink it. If that was the case, she couldn't even begin to fathom why, but that possibility definitely worried her greatly.

"Uh...well, actually...no, I...it's pro'lly gone off by now," he stammered after another silence, looking down and slouching as though trying to disappear.

"I could get some more," she offered, though she wasn't completely sure if she believed his excuse. Her brow furrowed with worry as she looked at him, then she hesitantly added, "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Is...is anything wrong?"

"I'm _fine,_" he shot back defencively with a snarl, standing with his shoulders hunched and completely refusing to look at her now.

This was going to be very difficult. Tara sighed, putting down her book. "I'm really worried about you, Spike," she confessed gently. When he gave no indication that he'd heard her and continued to glower at the floor, she continued very softly and hesitantly, "I mean it...when was the last time you ate?"

No response. His desire not to share the answer spoke far louder than words could have.

"Spike..." Tara's eyes began to tear up with the helplessness she felt at his withdrawal from her, and she felt increasingly afraid that she wouldn't be able to get through to him at all, when he clearly so badly needed help. "Please...talk to me."

The silence stretched out for several long minutes, then finally Spike just shook his head and stalked towards the door, grabbing his duster on the way out. "Goin' out for a smoke," he muttered, not even looking back on his way out and slamming the door rather forcefully behind him.

Tara stared helplessly in the direction the vampire had left, repeating the exchange in her head and trying to think if she could have said anything different to make him actually listen to her. She'd heard so many times that he couldn't love without a soul, but she didn't believe that. Even when Buffy was still alive, it had been obvious to her that his feelings were more than a mere 'obsession', as Giles had put it, and now... When the Slayer died, he seemed to have been hit hardest of all, the image of him breaking down and sobbing at the sight of her lifeless body surfacing in her memory at the thought. That wasn't the way an unfeeling monster would ever react, especially not to the death of his species' natural enemy, and an unfeeling monster definitely would never have tried to end his own life at the sight by moving towards the fatal sunlight with such clear intent.

Something clicked in Tara's head then, increasing her worry. Spike had tried to kill himself when Buffy died, and they'd stopped him. He hadn't made another attempt since then, but now he apparently wasn't eating anymore, and she had a very bad feeling that the two things were connected—he was slowly destroying himself. At this realisation, she felt it even more important now to somehow get through to him before it was too late to get him to see reason...if it wasn't already too late.

Shuddering with apprehension, she took a deep breath to steel her resolve, then stood up and followed him outside.

Thankfully, Spike hadn't run off; true to his word, he was sitting on the porch and smoking a cigarette, gazing off into the distance at nothing in particular.

"What now, Glenda?" he asked shortly without bothering to turn and look at her, and she jumped a bit at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that he could easily sense when anyone was around. It didn't seem like he was going to try to evade her again, motionless apart from moving the cigarette to his lips and blowing out the smoke, watching it slowly float away through the air in front of him.

Tara hesitated, cautiously searching for the right words. "Spike...you can talk to me," she offered gently, her voice barely above a whisper. "I won't tell anyone else what you say, if...if you need to talk. I'm here for you, okay?" She just barely caught sight of a tear running down his cheek as he hung his head and closed his eyes to try to hide it, moving her by the clear intensity of his pain. The shy witch refused to believe anyone else's accusations that this man's lack of soul rendered him unable to feel, not when he showed such astounding depths of emotion so often. She'd known humans with less feeling than this vampire.

"I really do care about you, you know," she reassured him softly when he said nothing, finding her own eyes growing damp at the sight of his obvious suffering. "The others might not, but I think you're a good man, and you have a good heart." Slowly taking a seat beside him on the porch, she gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, relieved when he didn't flinch away from it. "Please...I...I know you're hurting, and I want to help you."

Spike finally looked at her briefly, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, then turned away again as he drew in a shaky breath, blinking back tears. Pausing to compose his thoughts, he retrieved his pack of smokes from an inside pocket of his duster and extracted another, using the spent one to light it before discarding the butt and grinding it out with his boot. "It's so hard," he finally spoke up, his voice very strained. "Hell...I jus' can't 'andle this. Loved her, 'n now she's gone. What've I got to live for now? Keepin' my promise to protect the Bit...not much else..." His breath hitched in his chest with a barely suppressed sob, and he closed his eyes again. "Fail at bein' a monster, cos I've got this bloody chip in my head. Fail at bein' a man, 'cos I 'aven't got a soul, 'n that makes me no good in the eyes a' the Scoobies. What's my purpose?"

Tara remained silent as he talked, simply listening as she stroked his shoulder slowly, trying to console him. "I...I know it hurts," she said quietly, pained by how heartbroken he sounded. "All of us are grieving in our own ways, and I think you must have the worst of it. I wish you didn't have to hurt." She sighed sadly, at a loss for how to help. "I really do believe you, that you loved her. You changed so much for her, and a lot of people with souls wouldn't do half of what you did for her, just to make her happy. I don't think it's the chip that's keeping you from being a monster. I believe you had that goodness inside you all along, you just needed a reason to change."

Spike studied the glowing tip of his cigarette for a moment, his expression distant. "You're really somethin' special, y'know that?" he told the witch almost inaudibly, grateful affection in his eyes as he glanced at her face. "Tryin' to help a vampire pining after 'is lost love, odd bird you are." He laughed slightly in a self-deprecating sort of way. "Bloody 'ell, I've really turned into a right poof, 'aven't I? Sittin' 'ere, mopin', bein' consoled by a harmless chit I'd jus' as soon've eaten a few years ago..." When it then dawned on him what he'd just said, any trace of a smile vanished from his face to be replaced by a pained and stricken look, and he quickly looked away and down towards the ground, closing his eyes.

The witch didn't miss that look, and she had the feeling that the reminder of his bloodthirsty nature was very greatly troubling him. Though nervous of upsetting him, she nonetheless couldn't resist voicing her concern again. "You...you haven't been eating at all, have you?" she asked after a momentary silence. A flinch from the vampire along with a lack of an answer confirmed her suspicions. "...Why?"

He abandoned his cigarette and buried his face in his hands. "Don't wanna talk 'bout this."

"Spike...please..." Tara pressed.

There was no response for a very long time, and she'd begun to worry he'd closed himself off from her completely again before he finally spoke, his voice shaky and halting, "Made a promise. I failed. Niblet..." As he paused for another long moment, he uncovered his face to wipe at his eyes, trying to choke back a sob. "I let 'er get hurt. Wasn't fast enough. That Doc guy...'e cut 'er...I..." He shuddered violently. "Makes me sick now. Thinkin' 'bout it, smellin' it...I can't...jus' think of the Bit, bleedin'..." Fighting back tears, he shakily lit up another cigarette to try to compose himself, haunted eyes staring off into the distance.

Tara was struck speechless at this confession. Out of the many reasons she'd considered that could be keeping Spike from feeding, this was one that had never occurred to her at all. "Oh Goddess," she breathed, devastated and at a loss for words. Spike continued to simply smoke in silence, until finally Tara had recovered enough to voice another question, "But...don't you need blood to survive?" She winced sympathetically and added, "And d-don't you get hungry? You...you're skin and bones, Spike...I'd think—"

"_Doesn't matter_," he cut her off in a surprisingly forceful snarl, sending a shiver up her spine. He acted so human most of the time that she sometimes forgot just how frightening he could be when he wanted to. He took another deep drag from his cigarette, trying to calm down a bit. "Besides, it's my fault the Slayer's dead. She trusted me, 'n I let 'er down. I deserve a spot of sufferin'."

He sounded so bitter at himself that Tara didn't know what to say to that. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, hanging her head.

"Don't be," Spike told her flatly. He glanced up at something, then stood up, tossing his cigarette to the ground and putting it out. "Well, the gang's nearly 'ere. Time for patrol."

The vampire started to walk off, then he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the shy Wiccan still sitting on the porch, his expression softening. "Thanks for the talk, love. Really," he told her sincerely, then turned again and walked away.

Tara watched him leave, her mind full of troubled thoughts. Spike's problems were even worse than she'd thought, and she genuinely had no idea what else to do for him. "I'm here for you," she said softly, knowing he could still hear her voice as he disappeared into the night. "Please don't give up."


	5. Legacy

A/N: Shorter chapter this time. I originally was going to handle this slightly different, but then this idea suddenly came to me and I just _had_ to write it, especially since it helps build the friendship between Spike and Dawn, which I wanted to focus on. I don't know if this idea has ever been used before by anyone, but I'm pretty sure this little aspect of Dawn is technically canon, when you consider the events in the show that she references here.

**V. Legacy**

Spike jolted upright abruptly in alarm, sitting up in the bed and darting his eyes around the room frantically before he'd even fully awoken. He smelled blood. _Dawn's _blood. Frozen with fear, he stared at the vacant spot beside him on the bed, terrified that she wasn't there when the smell of her blood was so close and overpowering. Had his heart been beating to begin with, it would have stopped.

Was he imagining the smell? It was so horrifyingly vivid and clear that he found it hard to believe it was all in his head, and he hadn't dreamed that anything bad had happened to her, having protected her from being hurt in his dream as he always did. Images of her being cut as she cried on the tower surfaced at the thought, causing him to tremble uncontrollably. Did something come in and hurt her? If it had, how hadn't it woken him up until now?

The vampire scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm down enough to think rationally as the rest of his mind began to wake up and catch up to his other senses. He was then aware that could hear someone approaching from the hallway, their heartbeat and breathing sounding normal, and he didn't see any signs or sounds of a struggle anywhere, no screaming or growling, no blood visible anywhere around him. Maybe he'd been too quick to panic.

"Spike? Oh geez, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

Dawn's voice. Spike looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, giving him a concerned and apologetic look. The vampire heaved a great sigh of relief at seeing her unafraid and unharmed, relaxing and letting the worried tension ease away a bit. The chemical smell of antibiotics drew his gaze to a gauze bandage wrapped around her hand, and it occurred to him that she must have just accidentally injured herself or something. " 'S alright, Niblet," he replied a bit shakily, shifting so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed and facing her. "Jus' thought somethin' happened to ya. Y' _are_ okay...right?"

The young girl nodded, lingering in the doorway hesitantly and looking sheepish. "Yeah, I am." She looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet a bit and remaining silent for a moment before nervously telling him, "I...wanted to give you something. Please don't freak out, okay?"

He furrowed his brow in puzzlement, unsure why she would say that, then he belatedly noticed that she was holding a cup in her hands and clutching it protectively close to her, preventing him from seeing what was inside it. "...Wot's tha'?" he asked suspiciously, indicating it with a slight nod and tilt of his head.

"Won't tell unless you promise not to freak out first," she insisted, pouting. "Please? Promise me."

Although those words served to resurface Spike's feelings of unease somewhat, the girl was obviously very determined about this, and he definitely knew how stubborn she could be. "A'ight," he finally acquiesced, drawing in a deep unnecessary breath to force himself to be calm. "Won't freak out. Promise."

Dawn searched his face for sincerity, then finally she crossed the room slowly to stand right in front of him, still holding the cup close to her. "O-okay...well..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "You're always hurt lately, and...well, you passed out on patrol last night when that demon clawed you, and you said you were okay later, but..." Tears shimmered in her eyes as she trailed off and looked at him imploringly. "I don't know what's going on, but I...I remembered...something B-Buffy told me..."

She sniffled, trying not to cry at the memory of her sister, and Spike reached out to gently stroke her arm in a comforting gesture as she tried to regain her composure. He wasn't sure if he liked where this was going, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt and remained silent while he waited for her to finish.

"Sh-she told me...that the monks made me out of her," Dawn continued, looking down, "and that's why she...she was able to save me. She had my blood, and I have hers." Her gaze lifted again to look into Spike's eyes, pleading with him to trust her and not be upset. "So...that means my blood is really strong like hers, and it'll help you get better."

At that, Spike suddenly put the pieces together—he realised exactly what was inside that cup, why Dawn's hand was bandaged, and why he could smell her blood so strongly. His eyes widened, and he recoiled slightly from her in horrified alarm. Dawn looked hurt at his reaction, reminding him, "You _promised._ Please...I know what I'm doing. Really."

Spike sighed in defeat, struggling to relax again as best he could and banish the irrational fear he was feeling. "Yeah, I did. Sorry...I do trust ya, Bit. Jus' shocked me is all."

Dawn gave him a sympathetic look that showed she understood why he'd been unsettled, then held out the cup to him, placing it between his hands and surrounding them with her own so that he wouldn't let go of it. She took a deep breath, then finished, "Please drink this. You seem so sick, and I really want to help." The teen smiled sadly and hopefully at her surrogate big brother. "You said you promised her you'd keep me safe, too. You can't do that if you're all beat up."

The vampire stared down at the contents of the cup, uncertain. It was a fairly small amount of blood, and he was at least grateful for that, knowing that Dawn hadn't put herself in any actual danger to give him this. That made him feel slightly better, since the last thing he wanted was for her to have actually harmed herself badly for him. He also knew that she was right, that he very badly needed to feed if he was going to be in any state to continue going on patrol—he _was_ always injured lately, as she'd pointed out. All the same, he wasn't sure if he could stomach any of it at all, between his difficulty keeping blood down lately and it being _her_ blood.

"You don't have to drink it all right now," Dawn told him as she noticed his hesitation. "I can save the rest in the fridge, in case you need it again."

Spike nodded slowly, that thought helping him feel slightly more at ease. He felt Dawn's hands tightening slightly around his, and he realised it was to keep the cup steady since his own hands were shaking too much to hold onto it on his own. Belatedly, he gradually became aware that he was feeling so weak and shaky from just how badly he needed that blood right now. Intentionally or otherwise, he'd been almost completely avoiding the stuff for a long time, and actually acknowledging that fact to himself flooded him with dizziness. He closed his eyes and tried hard to calm down. This was important. He had to try to drink this, whether he wanted to or not. His body was in a state of total disrepair, all the worse for the many injuries it was struggling to try to fix, threatening to completely give out on him if he denied himself sustenance much longer.

His mind made up, he lifted the container to his lips with Dawn helping him do so without dropping it, and he slowly began to drink a bit, swallowing with more force than strictly necessary to make sure it would actually stay down. To his surprise, rather than revolting him as he'd been expecting it to, the taste instead sharpened his hunger and made him feel desperately ravenous. It was as though the weeks of surviving on nothing were catching up to him all at once, making him keenly and painfully aware of just how badly he'd been mistreating his body. The feeling was so amazingly overpowering that he almost felt like outright recklessly chugging it down, but he knew he'd just immediately be ill if he did that, so he carefully held back and took it slow.

Dawn beamed at him as he drank, looking pleased with herself. Her eyes were sparkling with joy at being helpful, intensely relieved she was actually getting the vampire to accept the blood. She was well aware of how increasingly unwell he'd been lately, and she'd started to get very scared for him. She knew she couldn't force him to eat normally again and that he probably wouldn't for awhile yet, but at least she was helping him out...and keeping him from stupidly getting himself killed by fighting while severely injured.

Spike managed to down just over half of the cup before he started to feel somewhat nauseated, unable to handle much at once thanks to his poor habits of late, and he decided to stop then to be on the safe side. The hunger had greatly faded into the background again now that he'd managed to get something in him, and he could feel the extremely potent blood already starting to go to work, the revitalising healing energy of it tingling inside his veins. "Can't drink any more," he insisted with a slight grimace when Dawn still tried to coax him to finish it. "Save the rest for later, though."

Dawn nodded, reluctantly taking the cup back, then she suddenly found herself pulled into a hug by the vampire. Setting the container down on the bedside table, she readily returned the hug and clung to him tightly. "Try not to be quite so stupid anymore, okay?" she teased him.

Spike laughed sheepishly. "Sorry. I'll try. No guarantees, though. 'M a bit of a dumb git sometimes."

Pulling back from the hug just enough to look at him, Dawn smiled brightly at the vampire. "I love you, Spike."

Spike smiled gently in return, warmed by her sentiment, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead tenderly. "Love you too, Bit."


	6. The Resurrection

A/N: **And now, the feature presentation! **Yes, this where the stuff mentioned in the summary finally starts proper, and some of the big important stuff happens this chapter. Handled the resurrection a bit differently from the show, and I really hope I did an okay job with this. Going to start making these chapters longer (and hopefully better quality now—the short ones have sorta been a cop-out because I didn't know how to transition/continue well from some points).

Any reviews/critique/suggestions/etc. would be _greatly appreciated! _I'm a novice at this whole thing and still learning a lot as I go, and the most important thing to me here is writing a good story that you'll enjoy reading!

**VI. The Resurrection**

Willow sat amidst a pile of books, making notes and bookmarking pages as she went. This was the most complicated spell she'd ever worked on, her masterpiece, having spent months of extensive research to put this together, carefully modifying it to create the perfect resurrection spell that could truly bring somewhat back from the dead. No shambling zombies or horrible evil clones, the real genuine article completely brought back to life. She was so close now, and excitement swelled in her chest as she quickly jotted down another set of notes, so thrilled that she could hardly keep her hand steady to write.

She was going to bring Buffy back. She was going to rescue her soul from whatever dimension it became lost in when she jumped through that portal. She was going to be a _hero_.

"Sweetie, are you coming to bed soon?"

"In a bit. I think I've finally got this!" She looked up from her work briefly to smile brightly at her lover, leaning over to wrap an arm around the fuller-figured witch and pull her into a joyful hug. "We're really going to be able to bring her back!"

Tara gave Willow a sleepy smile in return, filled with affection at seeing her so happy, and kissed her gently. "No wonder you're so excited. You've been working so hard on this. You really should get some sleep, though...this is too important for you to finish it up while you're tired."

The redheaded witch yawned, then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, you're right," she admitted, scanning over her notes a final time to double-check that it was all in order before carefully putting everything away and climbing into bed with Tara, snuggling up to her cozily as she waited for sleep to come.

By tomorrow night, she could have this spell completely ready and have everything she needed to perform it. The only catch would be making sure Spike wasn't around, since she knew how much he hated magic and she was worried he might interfere somehow...but that wouldn't be too hard, especially since she'd already managed to keep all of her planning a secret from him so far. Giles had left for England, so she wouldn't have to worry about him giving her any righteous lectures about what she was going to do. He'd been hit hard by the loss of the Slayer that had been like a daughter to him, and Willow knew he'd be grateful to have Buffy back, regardless of what he'd try to tell her if he was here.

It would be the most challenging spell she'd ever attempted, but it would be worth it. This would change everything. In her own way, she would be helping to save the whole world by bringing back its strongest warrior.

Tomorrow night, Buffy would live again.

* * *

><p>Spike glanced around at the other occupants of Willy's as he sauntered in, scanning the crowd for anyone that looked like they might be trouble. As much as he normally loved a good brawl, with the shape he was in lately he'd probably just wind up getting thrashed if he got caught in one. Thankfully he at least hadn't lost the ability to act intimidating, deliberately putting on his trademark coolly casual air and confident swagger as he headed over to the bar, since he knew better than to make himself look like an easy target.<p>

"Hey, Spike! Buddy! Haven't seen you around here in awhile," Willy's weaselly voice addressed him, the bartender looking over at the approaching vampire. "Where ya been?"

Spike flopped down on a barstool, lighting up a smoke. "Eh, jus' been layin' low lately."

"Place ain't very lively without ya, I gotta say, though the lack of property damage has been sorta nice," Willy continued, laughing nervously. "So, uh, how ya been doin', pal? And hey, you've lost weight! You look...er, well, not _good_, exactly...you look, uh..." He awkwardly trailed off from his failed attempt at small-talk with a cough as Spike stared at him with one eyebrow raised, the vampire looking not at all amused. "...Y'know, why don't I just get your drink? What'll it be?"

"Whiskey, straight," Spike responded shortly, tuning out further attempts by the bartender to engage him in conversation and simply nursing his drink in silence when he received it. Truth be told, he'd mainly come here to drown his sorrows in alcohol, and this was the best place to go for a drink around here and admittedly had a pretty nice atmosphere for a demon bar. The Scoobies had recommended he take the night off from patrolling and kick back, and this seemed as good a place as any to do it. He really needed to pull himself out of this depression over the Slayer's death, but all attempts to cheer himself up only ever served as a temporary fix to distract him from the fact he was sinking ever-further into this rut. Just a few years ago, he'd been actively trying to kill her...and yet here he was now, struggling to go on without her when he ought to be rejoicing, and her death was slowly destroying him. It was painfully ironic, to say the least.

The increasingly enticing smell of blood in the air from other vampiric patrons with their drinks caused his stomach to growl loudly, suddenly reminding him that it'd been far too long since he'd last remembered to eat. It was all too easy to forget entirely when he spent most of his time wallowing in misery, and that thought made him very annoyed at himself. He wasn't the sort of pathetic ponce that ought to be spending all his time pining over some girl, especially one that hadn't even shown any sort of interest in him when she was alive beyond using him as a punching bag.

Furthering his annoyance, apparently Willy had taken notice of his complaining stomach, as he took that precise moment to mention hesitantly, "Just got a new shipment of the good stuff recently, by the way...y'know, if you're hungry."

Glancing up at the bartender, Spike scowled at the concerned look on the man's face. He was _really_ tired of being pitied by people. Though he considered declining just to spite the guy, he decided better of it, since he was unhealthy enough as it was. "Yeah, sure...gimme an O-neg too," he muttered rather apathetically. He paused a moment, then snarled very irritably, " 'N quit bloody lookin' at me like that!"

Willy jumped skittishly at the sudden angry outburst, then quickly turned away and busied himself fetching the drink. "Right, sorry."

Spike accepted the blood with feigned indifference when it was handed to him and drank it as slowly as possible, not wanting to further humiliate himself by downing it ravenously. He set it down at one point to finish his smoke with an affected look of casual boredom, putting out the spent cigarette in a nearby ashtray before finally finishing off the glass. Thankfully, he didn't attract any more attention from the nosy bartender, who was leaving him alone now save for serving him more booze when he asked for it, and none of the other patrons seemed to be paying him much mind. Relaxing a bit now that he had some peace, he resumed drinking in silence, letting the slight fuzzy feeling from the alcohol help his mind go blank so he could forget about his troubles for awhile.

* * *

><p>"It feels...wrong...d-digging up her body like this," Tara mentioned, shivering with apprehension as they approached Buffy's grave. She had intense misgivings about doing this spell, as it felt like they were disrupting the natural order of life and death, but Willow had assured her that the supernatural causes of the Slayer's death made her exempt from those laws. She could only hope that the other witch was right and truly knew what she was doing.<p>

"Yeah. Creepy," Xander agreed, looking down at the grave, the shovel he'd brought with him slung over his shoulder. "Getting some serious wiggins here. You're sure this is going to work, no freaky zombie-Buffy wanting to eat our brains?"

Willow and Anya were busying themselves setting out the spell components, the ex-demon having been great help in acquiring them with her exceptional bartering skills. "I'm sure," the redhead replied, though her voice lacked conviction somewhat. "I was really careful checking everything about this spell. It's going to work."

"Can't we do this without...y'know...digging up a dead body?" Xander muttered as he started digging, shuddering at the implications. "This is majorly morbid."

"We need her body if we're going to put her soul back in it," Willow explained, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself and focus. "That's what the spell does. It's going to completely restore her body back to life, just like she was before she died." She frowned. "Her soul will still have memories of...wherever she is right now, though, so she might be...confused when she comes back. I wish we could have done this sooner. What if...what if she went somewhere _terrible_, some awful Hell dimension of Glory's?"

"Then we'll be saving her," Anya chimed in, trying to be optimistic.

Willow nodded silently, sitting down on the damp ground. Tara took a seat beside her and stroked her shoulder reassuringly.

Coughing, Xander set down the shovel and dusted the dirt from himself. He grunted and panted from effort as he hauled the heavy coffin out of the grave with difficulty, then he slowly pushed it into the centre of the circle the others were forming before flopping down in his designated spot and wiping his brow.

"Alright, this is going to take a lot of power," Willow explained, her voice stronger now as she gradually gained confidence. "We'll all join hands in this circle, and you'll all concentrate with me to help give me more power and strengthen the magic. Don't move until I've finished. You'll know when it's done."

The group linked hands in a circle around the coffin, and Willow took a deep breath, closing her eyes and lowering her head to help her focus as she began to chant in a strange language. Slowly at first, they all felt a tingle of energy in their joined hands, gradually spreading to their entire bodies, the sensation growing and building as the witch's chanting sped up and became more intense. Eventually, a dim glow began to emit from the coffin. When Willow opened her eyes and raised her head once more, Tara gasped in shock to see that the other witch's eyes had become eerily solid black.

"Osiris, God of Death, I entreat thee," Willow continued in a language they could now understand, her voice sounding slightly distorted and unnatural, as though influenced by some supernatural source. "This great warrior has fallen, yet it was not her time to meet you. Return her to life. Return her to our world."

The intensity of the energy now burned, feeling nearly like a current of electricity coursing through the circle. The glow from the coffin became blinding as a deep disembodied voice intoned, "Mortal, your request has been granted. The Slayer shall be returned to you." There was a pause, then slowly the lid of the coffin slid open of its own accord, a long and tense moment passing before the glow finally dimmed away and the energy gradually began to fade from the linked circle. When it had gone, Willow slumped forward in exhaustion, weakened and breathing heavily from the exertion of the powerful magic she'd just performed.

They then released each other's hands, and Tara wrapped her arms around the other witch to keep her from collapsing. When her eyes fluttered open, Tara was greatly relieved to see that they'd returned to normal. Willow gratefully leaned against her lover for support as she recovered, looking toward the open coffin and asking nervously in a strained voice, "Did...did it work?"

All eyes turned to the body inside the coffin as it began to stir. Buffy indeed looked just as she had before she died, as if she hadn't been dead and buried for months. She sat up very slowly, then her eyes snapped open wide with a fearful look in them...and then she screamed.

Everyone suddenly rushed at once to try to console her, worried something might have gone wrong. She appeared completely unharmed, but her eyes were darting around fearfully at everything around her. "Wh-where am I?" she asked shakily, trembling as she was helped upright. "I...I was dead...I...died..." Finally making eye contact with the group, her voice grew quiet with horror as she asked them, "...Am I in Hell?"

"Buffy, it's okay. You're not in Hell anymore. We saved you," Willow reassured her, fearing that she'd been right in suspecting that the Slayer had been trapped somewhere horrific. She wished yet again that she could have brought her back sooner. "You died saving the world. We brought you back."

"Was this supposed to happen?" Anya asked the obvious question that all of them were wondering.

"Willow did say she might be disoriented at first," Tara replied, looking at the shaken Slayer with intense worry. "We don't know where she was, or...or how much time has passed for her there."

Buffy slowly looked around at all of them, trying to remember who they all were. Eventually a spark of recognition shone through the confusion in her eyes. She remembered these people. This was the world she'd left behind when she dove into the portal. But why was she back here now? She'd given her life to save the world, been freed finally from the burden of her sacred duty as the Slayer. Yet now, she was back here, where she would have to keep fighting demons and saving the world. She didn't understand. She didn't _want_ this.

"Buffy, are you okay?" Xander asked uncertainly, worried at how shaken she was.

Buffy slowly backed away from the group, now able to stand on her own. She stood there for a long moment, feeling increasingly trapped as she stared at the people crowding around her, then suddenly she took off running, bolting away like a startled animal.

"Buffy! Wait!" Willow called after her, moving to follow her, only to find herself held back by Tara.

"She's faster than us. We can't catch up to her right now," Tara pointed out, feeling as though she was the only voice of reason among them at the moment. "I...I think she needs to be alone for a bit. She looked so scared and confused..." She sighed sadly, wondering once more if this was such a good idea after all. "Let her calm down for a bit," she suggested, "then we'll look for her. O-okay?"

Willow nodded, trying not to cry. "She thought she was in Hell," she breathed shakily, still shocked by it. "Goddess, what if she _was? _She must be traumatised." The redheaded witch buried her face against Tara's shoulder, seeking comfort from the troubling notion. "I hope she'll be alright."

Tara gently stroked her fingers through Willow's hair. "I...I think she will. I think she just needs time." At least, that was what she hoped. Secretly, the shy witch greatly feared it might not be so simple.

* * *

><p>Tired from his night out and feeling like curling up in bed, Spike slowly began to make his way back towards the house. Drinking really hadn't helped dull the pain all that much, though he hadn't let himself get completely rat-arsed, needing his senses on alert in case he ran into trouble on the way home. His thoughts were still on the Slayer, and he sighed wearily, his body feeling heavy from the weight of his depression. It seemed like this would just haunt him forever, that he'd never feel joy again after her death.<p>

The vampire kicked at the ground in irritation as he walked. When had he become so utterly broken? He was the Big Bad, he had a history of raising hell and being feared, and now he'd turned into a complete and utter nancy, so destroyed over the loss of the woman he loved that he rarely even remembered that he was supposed to want to drink blood. He didn't even have a soul, yet here he was brooding over love like his great poof of a Grandsire.

His anger at himself increased when he felt tears coming, and he blinked them back, refusing to start sobbing again. Maybe he'd had a bit too much to drink, or not enough to eat, because he could swear he could actually _sense_ the Slayer around, and that just made him feel all the worse. Apparently he was so caught up over her that he was hallucinating about her now. Pathetic.

He was so distracted with his thoughts and so busy feeling sorry for himself that he didn't notice the figure approaching him until he was abruptly struck by a forceful blow, slamming him into a nearby brick wall, then pinned there with his back pressed up against it. Reeling from the force of the assault, he was slow in registering his assailant, panic setting in when he saw that they were holding a stake, threateningly poised to drive it into his heart. When he then looked up from it to the figure's face, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

It couldn't be the Slayer. It was impossible. She was dead. No...it was likely just the bot, maybe malfunctioning at the moment and seeing him as an acceptable target. As he considered this option and tried to calm down, it suddenly hit him that the tingling feeling of the Slayer's presence was now stronger than ever, and he could acutely sense her heartbeat, her breathing, that smell that was so uniquely _her. _He stared at her face in complete shock, taking in her lost and confused expression as she held the stake still rather than lowering it. It was as if she didn't fully recognise him, yet realised that she ought to know who he was.

Hesitantly, almost afraid that she would disappear if he touched her, he slowly raised a very shaky hand to her cheek. Her skin was so warm. So _alive._

"...Buffy?" he whispered in bewilderment, so incredibly overwhelmed that he could barely even speak. She looked alarmed at him saying her name, seeming as though she was trying to recall something...then suddenly she released him and backed away, the stake clattering to the ground as she dropped it.

All he could do was stare in absolute awe at the woman standing before him, words completely failing him. He didn't know how, but it was really Buffy. She was alive.


	7. Heaven Can Wait

A/N: Sorry for the long delay getting this chapter up, didn't mean to leave you hanging! Doing the romance very gradually to keep them in character, while exploring sorta-hurt/comfort on both sides as the genre label suggests (Buffy for the same reason as the show, and Spike...well, you _have_ been reading the story so far, right? He's a _total wreck!_)

**VII. Heaven Can Wait**

Maybe it was the long absence altering his perception, but Spike thought he'd never seen the Slayer look so breathtakingly beautiful. She was so warm and radiant and glowing with life, as if she'd simply been away resting on a vacation that had done her good rather than having been dead. Entranced, he found himself getting lost in her eyes, drowning in her as he soaked in every glorious sensation of her presence, everything he'd longed to have back so badly and never thought he would. He could still hardly believe she was really here, standing before him, and he fully expected to find himself waking up at any moment to discover that this was all just another dream.

For a long silent moment, they both gazed at one another, those enthralling eyes of hers gradually showing a dawning recognition in them as she finally fully placed who he was.

...And then, without warning, she promptly socked him hard in the nose.

"_Ow! _Wot the bloody 'ell was tha' for?" Spike exclaimed, reeling back and covering his injured nose. " 'N why's it always the bloody _nose_ with you?" Well, now he definitely knew he wasn't dreaming. _This_ was the Buffy he remembered.

"That was for touching me," Buffy huffed. "I just remembered I hate you."

"Nice t' see you too, Slayer," Spike remarked dryly, gingerly wiping at his nose and wincing at the blood on his hand. He didn't exactly have a lot of that to spare right now either, briefly giving him the compulsion to lick it off, but he quickly decided against it due to the fact that the Slayer would find it incredibly disgusting. "How're you even alive? Last I checked, you were six feet under."

Buffy frowned at the question, clearly very confused herself and rather troubled by trying to sort it out. "I...don't know. I _was_ dead. I remember dying, and I remember being...somewhere else." She looked very sad as she said that, hanging her head and turning her gaze down toward the ground. "Then suddenly I wake up in a coffin with everyone standing around me. At least I wasn't still buried I woke up." She shuddered in horror at the thought.

Spike tilted his head as he studied her thoughtfully, belatedly identifying the faint trace of something odd lingering in her scent as magical energy. "You smell a bit like magic...wonder if Red's behind this," he muttered, considering it. "She's been actin' shifty lately..." While he really wanted to be bitter at the witch for meddling with such dangerous magic if that was the case, he reluctantly had to admit that he was immensely grateful that Buffy was back. He wasn't sure how much longer he would have been able to go on without the Slayer in his life, even if it was only to give him hell rather than ever returning his love. He'd all but wasted away entirely pining after her, much as it ashamed him that he'd let himself get so consumed by it.

Buffy buried her face in her hands, momentarily seeming very small and lost. "I'm so confused. This is just too much. I just...I just want to go back where I was."

Spike wasn't quite sure what she meant, but it worried him nonetheless to see this normally strong and confident woman so unusually sad and resigned, and he couldn't help feeling sorry for her after what had happened to her. Having experienced dying and coming back firsthand, he knew it was far from a walk in the park, even in the best of circumstances, and hers were likely even further from ideal. "How 'bout we jus' get you home, pet?" he offered gently.

Glancing at the vampire uncertainly, Buffy considered for a moment, then decided, "Yeah...that sounds good."

She fell into step beside him as he began to lead the way back towards her house, remaining silent while she tried to process everything, incredibly overwhelmed with the struggle to sort all of the jumbled thoughts in her head. She wasn't even sure what she wanted right now, since she didn't want to be here at all, stuck in this loud and noisy and chaotic world when she'd been blissfully at peace. It was so jarring to be alive again when she still had such clear memories of where she'd been before they'd brought her back. She wanted desperately to go back there, where she wouldn't have to face this burdensome duty that had been handed to her. It had been such a welcome relief to no longer have to fight the good fight, and apparently her selfish so-called friends had simply snatched that away from her just to have her back with them again. It wasn't fair.

Spike glanced over at the Slayer walking alongside him, increasingly concerned at her silence and forlorn expression, noticing her eyes shimmering slightly with tears. He wanted to comfort her somehow, feeling greatly compelled to simply hold her and soothe her and tell her that everything would be alright, but he knew she would never accept that sort of contact from him. If he tried, she'd probably hit him somewhere a lot more painful than his nose, and he could help but wince at that mental image. "You alright, Slayer?" he asked instead, though he was fairly sure that she wasn't.

Buffy looked at him in slight surprise, having been so deep in thought that she'd almost forgotten he was there, and she didn't know just what to make of this apparent concern coming from an enemy. "I don't know," she told him quietly, very unsure herself. "Everything's really confusing right now."

The vampire simply nodded sympathetically in response, and she studied him for a moment, noticing that something seemed off about him. Her memories from before her death were returning, but they were still a little sketchy. She furrowed her brow in thought as she tried to place it, then spoke up, "Were you always so..." He quirked his scarred eyebrow at her as she paused, crinkling up her nose a bit and gesturing her hand vaguely at him while searching for an adequate descriptive word, then she finished instead with, "Pretty sure you used to look like you actually...y'know..._ate._"

Spike rolled his eyes at that. "Not 'alf that bad. S'pose I lost a bit a' weight, that's all. Was jus'..." He trailed off mid-sentence, stopping himself when it occurred to him that the Slayer would likely react very badly to hearing anything even remotely suggesting how depressed he'd been after her death, especially since she was convinced he wasn't capable of loving her without a soul and that he was creepily 'obsessed' with her. Coughing awkwardly, he hesitated, then ambiguously explained, "Er...a lot happened while you were gone."

Buffy gave him an incredulous look that clearly said 'a bit' was a massive understatement, then her expression changed and became solemn at the mention of her absence. "How...how long was I gone?" she asked, sounding a bit unnerved.

Spike hardly even had to think about the answer. He'd never stopped counting the number of times he'd dreamt about saving her. "Hundred 'n forty-seven days," he recited, sighing a bit at himself. Glancing at her face again, he saw confusion and unease at his answer that prompted him to ask her, "How long was it for you...where you were?"

Her focus seemed to turn inward again, and she was quiet for a long moment. "Longer," she finally whispered in reply as she hung her head again, the single word speaking volumes. He had the distinct feeling that this passage of time was why she hadn't recognised him at first, and he couldn't imagine how difficult it had to be for her right now, adjusting again to a life she'd left behind for so long. The more he thought about it, the more he felt torn, rejoicing at having her here again, yet greatly pained by how sad she seemed to be at having been brought back. Unable to think of anything he could possibly say to console her, he fell quiet again as they continued walking.

When they reached the house, Spike hung back just inside the doorway as Buffy walked inside, only to see her practically ambushed by the concerned Scoobies who all wanted to see and talk to her at once, the lot of them having apparently been waiting here for her. The Slayer froze in place at this, feeling cornered and uncomfortable with the attention.

"Buffy! There you are!" Willow addressed her, sounding relieved.

"Hey, you alright, Buff?" Xander asked worriedly at nearly the same time.

Buffy skittishly began to back away from the group, and Spike tensed and growled low in his throat at the way they were crowding her when she clearly didn't like it, moving to protectively stand between her and the others before they could fully surround her. It almost surprised him how much he really didn't like these people at the moment.

Willow looked at the vampire nervously as she now belatedly noticed him, a rather meek and guilty expression on her face. "Oh...h-hi, Spike. Guess you found her?"

"Wot the hell did ya think you were playin' at, Red?" Spike demanded. He indicated the Slayer with a motion of his head, then snarled, "Explain. 'N stop bloody crowdin' 'er! Can't ya see she's upset?"

Buffy gave him a very puzzled look, but said nothing, allowing him to shield her from the others. She was tired and confused and really didn't want to have to deal with any of this right now.

Xander brought his hands up in front of himself and took a step backward from the unexpectedly aggressive vampire. "Whoa, calm down, Fido. We just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"She ran off earlier," Anya added in explanation. "We thought she might be back here."

Willow's eyes narrowed in response to the accusatory look Spike was giving her, and without thinking she spat defensively, "How can you even be angry at me for bringing her back? _You_ of all people! You should be grateful I did this!" He cringed at her words, silently pleading with her to leave it be, but she continued, "Don't think I haven't noticed how—"

"S-sweetie, let's...let's not talk about this right now," Tara interrupted her gently, stroking the other witch's shoulder to calm her down as she gave a very apologetic look to the vampire. He looked absolutely devastated at Willow having started to bring up how he'd reacted to Buffy's death, to say the least, giving her the distinct impression that he didn't want the Slayer to know about that.

Buffy glanced at Spike uncertainly and a bit suspiciously. "What's she talking about?"

"_Nothing_," Spike responded a bit too forcefully, avoiding her gaze. As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, Willow was unfortunately right about him, even though resurrecting the Slayer had been infuriatingly reckless of her. His tone softened a bit as he continued to address the others, "Look...she's real shaken up. Don't think she wants to talk much right now, yeah?"

"Dawn," Buffy breathed, suddenly recalling her little sister who was unaware that she was alive again, the only one absent from the group. "I need to see her." Thankfully, the others had finally taken the hint and given the Slayer a bit of space so that she didn't have to push through them to move.

Spike watched her ascend the stairs, thinking of following since he felt like getting some sleep...then his heart sank as it suddenly occurred to him that Buffy would absolutely not want to share a house with him. He was going to have to move back to his crypt. "Right, then. Was jus' escourtin' the lady back," he muttered to no one in particular. "I'll be goin' now."

Not giving anyone a chance to respond if they'd even heard him, he quickly turned and left silently, wanting to make sure that Dawn didn't see or hear him go. If the teen knew he was moving out again, he knew she would try to talk him into staying anyway, and he was having a hard enough time with this as it was. As he stalked away from the house, Spike could hear Dawn's excited voice from upstairs at seeing her sister alive, and he couldn't help but smile a bit at that; at least the girl was happy, even if he was having to step back from her again.

Listening to their cheerful reunion as he made his way tiredly to his crypt, the smile slowly faded, and he sighed heavily. Despite the Slayer's return, he somehow felt even more alone than before. It didn't help that she was clearly suffering from events related to her resurrection, something that never would have had to be done if he'd kept that promise to protect Dawn. If he'd kept Dawn safe, Buffy would never have died in the first place...so the suffering that she was going through now was ultimately his fault. He didn't even know where her death had sent her, nor exactly how long she'd been there, but it had left her a distressingly sad and lost shadow of the woman he remembered. Whatever had happened to her, she was in pain from it.

Feeling overwhelmed and utterly defeated, he simply resigned to letting the tumultuous wave of emotion from the night's events wash over him, not even bothering this time to fight back the tears when they came. While he possibly might have have wanted the Slayer to suffer once, back when they were mortal enemies and he was actively trying to kill her, he didn't want to be responsible for what she was going through now. He was at a complete loss for how to help her deal with it either, if he could even help at all. He was beyond tired and in absolutely terrible shape, barely even hanging on anymore, and all of this was was becoming far too much to handle.

Upon arriving at the crypt, he sprawled out on the sarcophagus with a very weary sigh, completely drained both physically and emotionally. Mercifully, exhaustion claimed him nearly the instant he lied down, his troubled thoughts fading away as he immediately fell into a very deep and much-needed sleep.


	8. Heart Shaped Box

A/N: Sorry these chapters are coming along really slowly, having some trouble deciding how to connect all the planned scenes and plot points together. Still unsure just how much I want to get inside each character's head too, so feel free to let me know if you think I should spend more time on someone.

**VIII. Heart Shaped Box**

Buffy slowly opened her eyes to distantly stare upward at the ceiling of her bedroom without really seeing it, shivering and hugging the blankets to herself at the odd feeling of intense coldness that fell over her as she awoke. The impact of her resurrection was finally fully sinking in after the confusion of last night, and it felt like some very important part of her had been left behind somehow when she'd been brought back to life. Not whole. Despite feeling the strong and steady beating of her heart inside her chest, she didn't feel as though she was actually alive at all, just a pale imitation of herself, a hollow shell of a person that could no longer _feel_. The fire had gone, leaving her frozen over.

She wasn't entirely sure just how long she lied there before finally dazedly making herself get out of bed to check the time. It was late afternoon already, almost evening. The others would probably be showing up for patrol soon, expecting her to join them, wanting to talk to her. She didn't want to talk to any of them. Numbly, she went through the motions of getting dressed, not bothering to fuss over what to wear and just grabbing what was convenient. Maybe if she left before anyone else showed up, she wouldn't have to spend time around them.

Dawn was downstairs watching television, and she turned to give a bright-eyed joyful look to her sister when she saw her descending the stairs. "Hey, you're awake!" she addressed Buffy enthusiastically, hopping up from the couch to walk over to her.

"Yeah," Buffy responded flatly, slowly looking around to see if anyone else was there and feeling at least a bit relieved that Dawn seemed to be the only one home at the moment.

Dawn stopped short next to her and gave her a confused and worried look. "Are you okay? Buffy? Is something wrong?"

Buffy shook her head in response, though her eyes were dead, staring at some point far away. She didn't even react at first when Dawn then hugged her tightly in attempt to comfort her, continuing to simply stand there for a moment before finally awkwardly returning the hug, upset that she couldn't seem to feel anything at the gesture of affection. The connection was there, but the emotion she knew she was supposed to feel seemed slightly out of her reach.

Uncomfortable with her sister's uncharacteristic silence, Dawn spoke up again an almost overly bright and friendly tone to try to lift the mood, "Tara made food earlier. We saved some for you." When she didn't receive a response right away, she began to gently guide Buffy by the arm in the direction of the kitchen, adding cheerfully, "It's really good!"

"Okay," was all Buffy could think to say in response, letting herself be led along. She almost felt like a stranger in her own home after having been away from this place for so long. It was a bizarre and unsettling feeling.

"Tara and Willow took care of me while you...uh...while...you were..._gone_," Dawn continued awkwardly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence with random chatter as she helpfully brought Buffy over toward a seat at the table. "Spike, too. He stayed with me and kept me safe. He said he promised you he'd never let me get hurt." Her face fell a bit and her cheerfulness faltered somewhat for a moment as she continued, "He never came back last night, though...I hope he's okay."

A memory surfaced in the Slayer's mind at that—the night before the world nearly ended, Spike standing in the doorway, the intense emotions that played across his face when she'd allowed him across the threshold once more. She'd told him she was counting on him to look out for her sister, to protect her, and somehow she'd had faith that he would. Apparently he'd kept his word even when she wasn't alive to see it, when he'd had no chance of impressing her and nothing to gain from it. She really wasn't sure just what to think of that, and the very thought of a soulless demon doing something truly selfless unnerved her greatly. It wasn't supposed to work that way. Vampires were supposed to be _evil_. But...why had she put that much trust in him at all, then?

Shaking herself out of that unsettling train of thought, she assured her sister, "I saw him last night. He...walked me home." That didn't sound right somehow, and she wasn't sure why. "He's fine. I mean, this is _Spike_ we're talking about. He has that annoying habit of not dying." She gave a halfhearted laugh at her attempted humour, then suddenly sobered again when she belatedly registered something odd about Dawn's wording. "Wait...Spike...was _staying here?_"

"Yeah," Dawn replied as she retrieved some leftovers from the fridge and moved them to the microwave to reheat. She glanced over her shoulder at the strange look on Buffy's face and asked sheepishly, "You're not mad about that, are you?"

Buffy was quiet for some time, considering it. "I...don't know. I guess it's okay...since he...kept you safe." Those words were awkward to say. Spike selflessly looking out for anybody just didn't seem like something that could happen, and that electronic muzzle of his still didn't exactly make him safe to be around, since it only held him back from directly physically attacking people. She'd seen for herself that the defanged vampire could still be dangerous. She shook her head, scowling a bit, and said firmly, "I don't want him staying here anymore, though."

Dawn looked disappointed and a bit sad at that, but nodded reluctantly. "I guess he moved back to that creepy graveyard place anyway, since he didn't come back here." She retrieved the food from the microwave and set out plates for herself and her sister, sitting down next to her quietly and watching Buffy absently pick at it with a sort of detached disinterest.

"See, isn't Tara a great cook?" Dawn broke the silence again after awhile with a somewhat forced smile.

Buffy nodded distractedly in response, though for some reason the food tasted bland to her. That numbness just seemed to surround her, smothering anything that tried to break through it. It almost seemed like a chore to eat, another lackluster aspect of this life she'd been returned to, something she simply had to do that held no meaning. Her hand moved the fork from the plate to her mouth in an almost robotic manner, just wanting to get this done with so that she could leave the house. She glanced over at the windows and the darkening sky she could see through them, finding it strange that the only activity that actually appealed to her was slaying.

Finishing, she stood up from the table, picking up both now-empty plates and taking them to the dishwasher. "I'm gonna go patrol," she told her sister, then clarified decisively, "_By myself. _I...need some time alone, okay?"

Dawn gave her a concerned and uncertain look, seeming as though she wanted to disagree with that, but then consented softly, "Okay." She was quiet for awhile longer, then stood up and hugged her sister again. "See if Spike is alright for me while you're out?" she added hopefully after a moment, her wide blue eyes looking into Buffy's imploringly.

Buffy sighed slightly, then nodded. "Alright. I'm sure I'll see him even if I'm not looking for him," she muttered ruefully.

A short time later, the Slayer walked out into the night, feeling eerily more at home out under the night sky than inside her own house. She wandered around a bit, scanning and re-memorising the area and the locations of the graveyards, recalling her old haunts. The memories of going to these places were from long ago for her, but they surfaced surprisingly easily as she let her mind slip into slaying mode. Muscle memory told her exactly how to fight the vampires she encountered, never faltering or slipping up as she dusted them effortlessly. Somehow she felt not even a day out of practice at it, despite how long she'd been gone. That thought confused her, but she pushed it aside.

As she made her rounds, one of the graveyards she walked through filled her with an odd feeling and sent a shiver up her spine. Pausing and looking around, she identified why—this was where Spike's crypt was, and where she'd run into him countless times on patrol. She wasn't sure what exactly it made her feel to be here, maybe many things all at once, conflicting and confusing. For a moment, she considered not even going through there to avoid encountering the blonde vampire, yet at the same time she found herself wandering almost against her will towards his crypt, not even sure why she was doing it. She oddly both wanted to avoid him and really wanted to talk to him.

Making up her mind, she shoved open the door to the crypt and slowly walked inside.

Spike was sprawled out haphazardly on his back on the worn sofa in front of the television, out cold, one arm dangling off the side and loosely gripping a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels. Several more, empty, were lying on the floor nearby. The whole place was a mess, really; various bottles, including some broken ones, cigarette butts, and other assorted bits of rubbish were scattered about everywhere. The television had been left on when he'd presumably fallen asleep in front of it, and some inane soppy drama was playing out on it.

As for the vampire himself...well, he was as much a wreck as his surroundings, Buffy noticed as she looked over his unconscious form with a sort of morbid curiosity. She'd seen him last night, sure, but she hadn't gotten this good of a look at him, and she shuddered involuntarily at the clear sight of how very unhealthily thin he was. His platinum hair was sort of tousled rather than being properly gelled back, his sharp cheekbones stood out starkly in a gaunt manner, and his eyes had such dark circles under them that they almost looked bruised against his eerily pale skin. He looked _terrible._

Buffy quickly shook her head as if to shake off the concern that had started to find its way in, hardening her heart and refusing to feel sympathy for him. He was a vampire. A monster. It didn't matter.

Feeling a bit annoyed at her thoughts and frustrated that he was unresponsive, she approached him and leant closer to him briefly to address him in a deliberately too-loud voice, "_HEY! _Wakey wakey!"

Predictably and much to her amusement, Spike groaned at the volume of her voice as he stirred, bringing the hand not holding the bottle to his head. "Oww...bloody hell, not so loud..." he mumbled, remaining slouched bonelessly as he scrubbed his hand over his face, barely awake and clearly nursing a hangover. He opened his eyes slightly for a moment to glance over at Buffy before closing them again, adding groggily, " 'Lo, Slayer."

Buffy shook her head at him in slight disbelief, unable to keep from smirking slightly at just how low the supposed 'Big Bad' had sunk. At least his misery distracted her from her own a bit. "Wow. What's with the whole drowning in alcohol thing you got going here? Gotta say...not one of your best moments."

Spike clumsily tried to reach over to shut off the television...and ended up falling off the sofa in the process, almost spilling the bottle in his hand before carefully setting it aside and finally managing to turn the telly off. Looking embarrassed and indignant at the Slayer having witnessed this, he dusted himself off and attempted to act cool and casual whilst climbing back up onto the sofa. "What, a bloke can't 'ave a drink now 'n then?" he finally replied a tad defensively, trying to play it off as the most natural thing in the world despite his bleariness.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the awkward scene. "Right, and you had just one," she remarked incredulously. "Anyway, Dawn was asking about you, wanted to know if you were okay. Told her I'd stop by and check on you for her."

Spike's expression softened at that, and affection shined in his half-open eyes, along with a tad of regret. "Li'l Bit...she alright?" he asked softly. "Di'n't mean to jus' leave 'er like that, but..."

Buffy had forgotten just how incredibly expressive the vampire could be sometimes, though she tried to dismiss this observation as soon as she thought it. He had no soul. He wasn't supposed to feel. That thought distracted her for a moment, bothering her with the fact that _she_ was the one unable to feel, and that tinged her voice with a bit of sadness as she said, "No, I get why you left. Dawn misses you though." She looked down, avoiding looking at him. "So, you were there for her when I was...gone?"

"Yeah. Promised, after all, didn't I?" Spike replied, tilting his head slightly to study the Slayer as he tried to wake up fully. Taking in the look on her face and her body language, he gradually realised she'd come here for another reason. Shifting his position on the sofa to make room for her, he nodded toward the cushion next to him and suggested gently, " 'Ave a seat, pet?"

Buffy hesitated, considering. Spike always seemed to have a talent for reading people, as infuriating as it was sometimes, and he seemed to know that she needed to talk to someone. With a slight sigh, she took the proffered seat, glancing suspiciously at the vampire to make sure he was going to keep his hands to himself and not try anything. When he just looked at her as though waiting for her to talk, she relaxed a bit and settled in.

After sitting in silence for a moment, Spike spoke up again, "What's on your mind, Slayer?" Damn, that perceptive thing again.

Buffy stared down at the floor, unsure if she wanted to share her thoughts. "I'm fine, all...alive and stuff, y'know?" she replied awkwardly. She glanced sidelong at Spike briefly, increasingly aware he seemed to see right through her, and turned her eyes downwards again uncertainly. "Just...nothing feels right. I feel like something's missing...and it hurts." When she turned her eyes upwards again to look at him, there were tears in them. "It's weird, but...you aren't forcing me to be or do anything, so I feel like you're the only person I can talk to about this."

That certainly wasn't something Spike ever expected to hear. He would never have dreamt that the Slayer would actually trust him enough to confide in him about anything. "You can always talk to me...if you're in pain...or you need summin, y'know?" he told her when he recovered from the shock. He gazed at her awhile, affectionate and concerned. "Anything I can do, love?"

Buffy shook her head, closing her eyes. "You can't help. Not with this."

Spike looked at the Slayer sadly, unsure what to say. The silence stretched out for some time, then he ventured, "It'll jus' take time, pet...gettin' used to things again. Nobody expects ya to be all sunshine 'n kittens if you've been trapped in some Hell dimension or—"

"I was happy," Buffy interrupted him suddenly without looking at him, trying not to cry.

He looked at her in confusion, having a sinking feeling that he'd completely misjudged the cause of her pain. "You...what...?"

"Wherever I was, it wasn't Hell. I was at peace there. It was bright and warm and beautiful, and I had no worries anymore. Everything was complete, and I felt so loved. I was so happy." She hung her head and closed her eyes as tears began to flow, her voice faltering as she finished, "I...I think I was in Heaven. And...now I'm not."

Spike was completely stunned by the Slayer's confession, utterly at a loss for what to say. " 'M sorry," he told her quietly, blinking back his own tears.

She slouched and hugged her knees to herself, then went on to say, "My...'friends'...they tore me out of there. I lost all of that...what I had. I don't want to be here. It hurts here. _This_ is Hell, where I am now."

Spike gazed at her sadly for a long time, speechless. Very cautiously, wary of retaliation for the action, he gently placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, but allowed the contact.

"Don't tell them...the others...about where I was, what happened," she told him very quietly. "They can't know about this. Never."

"Won't tell," he promised her solemnly.

She relaxed somewhat at that, though she was unsure why she felt so safe in trusting a vampire yet again. For some reason, she kept believing in Spike to honour his promises. He had so far, though she couldn't understand his motivation for it, what he gained from it. It didn't make sense. Looking at him as she brushed the tears from her eyes self-consciously, she took in his appearance again, how sick and broken he seemed. It was as if he was depressed, and had been for some time...or at least, that's what she would think if he were human, but vampires weren't supposed to be able to be like that. Why did Spike have to keep breaking the rules?

"Well...uh...slaying time," Buffy finally spoke up nervously, standing from her seat. "Got...things to do."

Spike nodded in response and didn't protest as he watched her leave, letting her have her space. He wanted badly for her to stay, he wanted to comfort her and make this better somehow, but there was just nothing he could say or do right now. In spite of the hopelessness of his feelings, he loved her, and he wanted her to be able to be happy. He couldn't help ease her pain...and it hurt to see her suffering. His heart ached for her.

As the Slayer exited the crypt and left his sight, Spike sighed heavily, then reached for that bottle of whiskey he'd set aside and started knocking it back.


End file.
